


Happiness Through Another Man's Eyes

by star_named_andy



Series: Shakespeare Does a Funny Thing [17]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barduil - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, References to Depression, References to Shakespeare, Rehabilitation, Thranduil's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_named_andy/pseuds/star_named_andy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ups and downs of Thranduil's current residency at the rehabilitation facility through his perspective. And, a very unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness Through Another Man's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the tags for mentions of alcoholism, depression, and suicide. These are not described in great detail or graphically described, but still mentioned.
> 
> I of course know that the gap between updates can be long with life and writing other fanfiction at the same time, but I want to say that I do take longer with these chapters to be delicate and precise with my language given the sensitive content. So, thank you to everyone who has stuck around, given me support, compliments, and inspiration to continue creating this journey for our beloved Hobbit couple - enjoy!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters or content. I also make no claims to owning any of William Shakespeare's work.)

_I once stood in a room full of mirrors with all of them turned away from me; I couldn’t stand the sight of myself, but you’ve taught me that I can look at myself without shame, without guilt, without the thought that I didn’t deserve a soul or a body._

  
Thranduil tapped his pencil on the notebook page, reading over it nervously. What an ugly confession, he thought. He knew that Bard would only treat such a profession with care, but he still worried that one day his angel would turn on him and flutter away. Bard was so kind and Thranduil loved him so much that it hurt to cause him pain, to be away from him, to not know how he was feeling and if he was alright. He was such a precious human being that once looked at Thranduil as intangible, but in Thranduil’s head the thing that really seemed intangible was Bard loving him so truly and ardently. He was so sweet, talented, honest, passionate, _good_. He was all of the things Thranduil wished he could have been from the start. Perhaps he could still be some of those things – he knew he could be, not just for Bard, but for himself.

  
Thranduil laid his head back on his pillow and sighed. He wished for more than just one – he was used to a mountain of them. Even so, a small smile curled his lips as he envisioned his partner. Even when Bard wasn’t smiling, purity shone through the very pores of his skin. For someone like that, Thranduil would do anything, and that meant bettering himself. He deserved to be better. Bard had convinced him so.

  
The blonde now considered fear of his beloved leaving him irrelevant. The brunette had a heart so big that even after Thranduil had hurt him physically and emotionally, he sought to make things right and to help Thranduil.

  
Thranduil knew his insecurities would come back sometime, for someone with mental illness could never be sure that their demons would vanish into thin air never to return, but for now he was content with the idea that Bard really was the one and that they would be forever bound by their immense love for each other. It was an immense love, indeed – heavy and fiery, yet delicate and soothing. Thranduil never thought positive feelings could be so potent before being encapsulated by Bard Bowman, the “dragonslayer”.  
He shifted his blue gaze toward the open window as a cool breeze glided over his skin. Everything outside looked absolutely beautiful – bright, hopeful. It was inspiring.

  
He chuckled softly to himself as he recalled the first time he ever saw Bard. He thought about it quite often though he’d never mentioned it to Bard, and it always seemed funny that at one point they were only strangers who knew of each other’s existence and nothing more than that…

 

 

Thranduil was sitting in the bleachers by some stroke of luck; the seats were notably hard and vastly uncomfortable. He didn’t bother to entertain the horror of finding out what was on the underside of it – old gum and used condoms, probably. He was never one to attend sporting events unless one of his friends was playing to support them, and it wasn’t because of the seating. He just didn’t find such activities fun to watch. He’d rather play, if he had to have anything to do with sports, but he didn’t like any sport enough to actually join. He was not a school spirit enthusiast by any means, so not even that could draw him into it all.

  
Galadriel managed to pull him along to this particular event, going on about how archery really was interesting and actually enjoyable to watch. Thranduil appreciated the art and skill that went into the sport, but didn’t buy for a second that watching it was exciting or entertaining. Still, there he sat, flat expression included. He huffed out his annoyance and sipped on the coffee he grabbed from the refreshment bar, which tasted like crap compared to what he was used to in regards to coffee. Galadriel would have to buy him one for making him suffer. It was only fair since she was late. He would have to spectate and observe whatever shenanigans were about to ensure on his own until she arrived.

  
He watched with dull eyes as the first division of archers walk onto the field below. They were labeled “Class D”, which meant they were the lowest in the ranks, the least experienced, and Thranduil presumed the least talented. He thought watching any blunders they made may be entertaining, but the failures that did arise were more pathetic than anything.

  
He was half way through watching the Class C archers when Galadriel finally appeared.

  
“The queen has decided to show her face among her peasants and her impatient ally from the next house at last.” Thranduil greeted as she sat.

  
“I was needed at the dorm house. It was an emergency. I do apologize for being late.” She replied easily.

 

“Why you ever signed up to be a resident assistant, I’ll never know.”

  
“Too much responsibility for your liking?” she teased and Thranduil pointed his nose toward the sky.

  
“I have my own things to attend to and so do you.”

  
“Like partying, in your case.”

  
“Only in my spare time, of course.” They smirked at each other and shared a laugh. Thranduil then waved his coffee cup before her. “This is atrocious. You owe me a better one.”

  
“Sounds fair. We’ll go afterward. I think I'd like a coffee, myself.”

  
“Must we stay the whole time? I’ve been here since the beginning and I’m honestly bored.”

  
“Oh, but things will get better soon, I assure you! The higher classes are quite intense.”

  
“Mmhm. What was the emergency, anyway? Someone leave something going in the kitchen? An emotional crisis, maybe?”

  
“Neither. A fire in the laundry room, actually. A whole dryer aflame. No idea what happened.”

  
Thranduil only raised his eyebrows and shook his head with a roll of his eyes while Galadriel giggled.

  
Thranduil nodded along as he watched class B, noting that they were certainly performing better than the others he’d seen, but he was still not particularly interested in it all. Every time he gave a sigh Galadriel would pat him on the shoulder and give him one of her signature, sickeningly sweet smiles that were so subtle, yet so powerful that no one could hardly ever reject anything she wished – no one but Thranduil and Celeborn, but even they knew when to tell her no and when it wasn’t worth the trouble. There was no use and complaining to her about simple things like attending an archery meet.

  
“Finally, the athletes you insist are oh so impressive I’ve been waiting for.” Thranduil commented with his chin raised pretentiously high as the class B competitors cleared the field and the announcer called out those in the A class.

  
“You won’t be disappointed, Thranduil.”

  
“I hope not. My expectations are quite high from all the fuss you’ve given over insisting I be here.”

  
Thranduil thumbed the rim of his coffee cup and frowned at the last bit of his cold beverage. He swirled it around a little, gazing critically at the diluted color. He raised his head as the audience around him billowed out cheers and briefly scanned over the field below before looking to Galadriel.

  
“Did I miss something?” he asked and turned, furrowing his brows at a group yelling behind him.

  
“They’re cheering for the dragonslayer! He just walked out.”

  
“Dragonslayer? What is that?”

  
“I told you – he’s the one that slaughtered the Smaug University Dragons in competition last semester. He’s only a freshman.”

  
“Doesn’t ring a bell. I tend not to remember impertinent information.” Thranduil said with a wave of his hand.

  
“Ah yes, you are above all else, I forgot. It seems I also don’t remember impertinent information.”

  
“You are a wonderful menace, my dear friend.” Thranduil grinned at her and Galadriel smiled back proudly.

  
“Why thank you, dear friend.”

  
“Where is this slayer? Which one is he?”

  
“There,” Galadriel said and guided Thranduil’s vision to one of the figures on the field with her pointing finger. “That’s him. Bard Bowman.”

  
“Isn’t that ironic,” Thranduil chuckled shortly and squinted his eyes to get a better look at the underclassman, but he couldn’t make out much detail other than he had dark hair that was long enough to be tied back. “He could be attractive. I can’t tell properly from this distance.” Before Galadriel could scoff or comment, he spoke again. “Just a statement.”

  
“You could always find out for yourself.” She replied simply and Thranduil hissed out a sigh.

  
“I’m not going to have it out with you about this again, Galadriel.”

  
“Defensiveness is clearing the foggy window that’s hiding your miserable relationship.”

  
“Miserable is a bit extreme, don’t you think?” he retorted and pulled his cellphone from his pocket. He looked at all of the text messages from Feren he was presently ignoring and shoved the phone away. “Don’t trouble yourself with matters that aren’t yours.”

  
“So you’d like me to quietly watch you plummet further into this mess as you ignore my sound advice?”

  
“I would like that very much, especially the quietly part of it.” Catching Galadriel’s unamused, hardened expression, Thranduil exhaled in a calm manner. “I know you mean well and you are a good friend. I only want you to respect my wishes.”

  
“So be it.”

  
“So be it. Thank you.”

  
“Mm. They’re about to start.”

 

 

Thranduil ended his recollection there, only briefly recalling Bard landing target after target for the remaining duration of the event and having praises screamed at him from the bleachers. He had been amazing then, Thranduil knew, but he was even more so now in regards to his skill. He let the memory dissolve, feeling queer in remembering seeing Bard as only some talented stranger. He almost felt guilty for not recognizing Bard with more attention then, knowing all he did about his angel now. Even when they met face to face the first time, they were foreign bodies bumping about time and space by some benevolent fortune. Thranduil felt even guiltier that he didn’t remember much of that meeting other than blurs of him behaving like a fool that night and morning and Bard being the sweet gentleman he is.

  
He groaned into his pillow over the compilation of not so pleasant thoughts. The fact that Feren was mixed in those memories didn’t help.

  
He wished to wipe it all away from his head at that moment, but no matter how many times he tried to erase, the remnants would always remain – it was like trying to erase crappy erase board marker from a white board. Erasing, scrubbing, and washing were all futile efforts.

  
There was no forgetting. Only moving on.

  
His mind wandered to the mostly happier chain of events that led to him falling completely in love with Bard. Even with their first real date to Starbucks, he felt it. He felt it when they sang in the car and when he kissed Bard and his stomach emptied. He had felt so stupid and afraid, even more so after he ran from the scene leaving the brunette in a daze.

  
He rolled his eyes, but smiled.

  
“How did he put up with me? How does he?” he wondered aloud.

 

  
Thranduil returned to his notebook and turned to a fresh page. A blank page was just what he needed.

 

Thranduil was proud of himself every morning he managed to get up and go to breakfast. It was mandatory to attend and he hated rising so early for food of all things, but he pried himself out of his little bed every morning to scuff along to the dining hall. Most mornings he simply sat and drank coffee while nibbling on bits and pieces of things; if he didn’t eat something, the supervisors would think it was mental health related and that would open a bunch of doors of counseling Thranduil didn’t need.

  
After breakfast, a whole day of programming started. There was group talk and activities, individual counseling, therapeutic workshops for art, music, dance, theatre, sports, and educational workshops that trained substance abstinence in the real world, taught substance rejection tactics, and explored methods of rebuilding relationships, forming new ones, getting employment, and finding healthy hobbies. Thranduil’s least favorite thing to do were the group activities, but he participated to the best of his ability; it would help him in the long run of his journey in more way than one. The programs he attended that he favored most were the theatre workshops (of course) and the relationship workshops. He expressed to his mentor that his family was in an awkward stage and that he wanted to make it the best it could be, and that he had a very special someone in his life that had done so much for him in every aspect of his life. He wanted, needed, to be able to give Bard all that Bard had given him, to be able to support him effectively when he needed and supply him with all of the things a healthy love required to not just survive, but flourish and last with strength and harmony.

  
Once evenings came, everything slowed down. After dinner, residents mingled with one another in the lounges, playing games, watching television, sharing stories. Thranduil excluded himself from it all, preferring to finally return to his room to unwind on his own.

  
He remembered his first few nights there at the facility; they were oh so unpleasant and uncomfortable. Everything was unfamiliar and lonely. When he managed to sleep, he was plagued with nightmares. The only thing that had brought him solace those times in the darkness was his stuffed elk Bard had won him back at the fair they had gone too with Bilbo and Thorin. The memory brought up mixed feelings, but the elk still had a connection to Bard and soothe Thranduil when he would cry and brood. Now that he had adjusted to life as an inpatient and had been given a light dose of sleeping medication, he didn’t have too many sorrowful nights anymore. It helped that at the end of the day he was always quite tired and fell asleep as soon as he laid down. Before letting his head hit the pillow, each night he made sure to write more of his series of letters to his beloved.

  
The best days were when he had visitors.

  
The meetings with his parents were always notably awkward, but Thranduil could see his father was trying to be proactive, which was enough to make his day brighter by a long shot. He even asked about Bard, how they met, what kind of student he is. He showed interest when Thranduil mentioned Bard an athlete, and so Oropher suggested they all attend an event to watch him sometime. Oropher’s attempts seemed to good to be true, even though they weren’t perfect. A mere few weeks prior Thranduil would have never believed his father could behave the way he was, yet there was a touch of familiarity; a glimmer of something distant and luke warm Thranduil remembered from his childhood before everything had turned dark. Part of him feared that when he returned home, everything would be the same as it was, but he didn’t entertain such gloomy musings if he could avoid it.

  
The first time Galadriel came, she brought a plethora of spirit lifting gifts – cards, flowers, and small trinkets given so kindly and generously by people from the college that heard he’d been in a near fatal accident and wanted to wish him well. Thranduil beamed, his smile not disappearing for some time, overwhelmed by so many people displaying concern for him. He read every single card, note, and letter, his heart singing with joy. On bad days, and there were bad days, he would refer to the gifts to remind himself of how lucky he was to have such support. Galadriel also brought Celeborn and Elrond along with her a few times and always brought different board and card games to play, Starbucks coffee (which Thranduil salivated at seeing), and updated Thranduil on school related and world news he was missing out on – there wasn’t too much of the latter to be caught up on.

  
What Thranduil looked forward to the most were the times when Bard would visit. He did not come as often as opportunity allowed because: “I have to give you enough space so that you may commit yourself to the healing process and have plenty of reflection time.” That was what he always said. Though Thranduil rolled his eyes at it, he understood and knew it was only out of the pure kindness of Bard’s heart and his profound sense of responsibility that he did so. It made Thranduil all the more excited for the days that Bard would show up. Once he arrived, Thranduil wouldn’t let go of him for anything until it was time for them to part. The parting was never pleasant, but Bard’s smiles and kisses with a promises of “see you soon” were always reassuring. His smile alone was enough to keep Thranduil’s heart beating for a century, so he knew he could make it through to the next time they saw one another…or he would at least try.

 

Not every day was good, and this one was going to be far from it. Thranduil could feel it as soon as he woke; when he jolted out of his sleep, his mind was scrambling in a thousand directions and his body was riddle with fear and cold sweat as screaming pierced his ears. He slammed his hand to his chest in reaction to his heart pounding wildly. He sprung from his bed and moved swiftly to the door, opening it only far enough to lean out and see what was going on so late at night…more like so early in the morning. It had to be past midnight by now.

  
He squinted his eyes at the brightness of the hall lighting flooding his sight, but he quickly adjusted. At first he saw nothing other than confused faces peeping out of their rooms, until someone zoomed past him, wailing out cries of distress. A trio of advisors, Gandalf among them, darted by next, and then a line of doctors, nurses, and assistants on the medical team. A few of them spouted off warnings to the patients to remain in their rooms, and at the giant sound of glass shattering, Thranduil hastily retreated.

  
He closed his door, in the darkness again, breathing heavily and wishing there was a lock on his door. He squeezed the knob and bent to his knees, letting out a shaky breath. His grip tightened as he could hear haunting sobs drift by his room and then vanish. There was absolute quiet again for a moment, and then faint murmuring of inquisitive voices convening in the hall. Thranduil wanted no part of any of it.  
He was instantly reminded of all of his nightmares that vividly mirrored moments of his real life:

  
dark days where everything was wrong when nothing had happened to him at all,

  
always wanting to be alone while wishing for “normalness” and happiness that he saw as unreachable,

  
thinking about suicide when he was only thirteen,

  
the first time he ever tasted alcohol and felt infected with numbness that was pleasing and terrifying,

  
binging,

  
hiding cans and bottles and breath from his parents,

  
attempts on his life,

  
blurry nights with Feren,

  
hangovers,

  
hurling to the point of a raw throat,

  
embarrassing parties,

  
smashing bottles,

  
being angry at himself and at everything around him,

  
hiding all of it from Bard,

  
feeling utterly unworthy of any kind of love.

  
He was reminded of his trauma, of every thought and memory that he could recall leading up to the accident. He especially remembered every ounce of pain; he’d hurt his body, his mind, his parents, his friends, his blessing of a boyfriend. It wasn’t him, he knew. It was the demon lurking inside of him whose sole purpose of existing was to destroy. Above all, it craved to destroy its host.

  
He leaned his head against the knob and wept, lamenting over his every grim choice that his disease used his body and brain to pursue. He wanted to erase it all forever, to never remember his errors, to have no one ever remember. If only he could go back in time and undo it all, stop himself, do something to change his entire life. Even if he could go back, was there really anything he could do to make everything different?

  
Why him? Why _anyone?_

  
Once he was able to stand, he shuffled over to his bed and sat down. He knew that this was the worst he’d felt since his first rough patch coming into the facility, he could feel it in all the worst places: his stomach, his head, his heart, and in the places where his past wounds ached with a bitter vengeance. He had been a servant to his illness for so long, but that wasn’t enough for the ravenous creature that had reach of everything in his life; this was the demon’s punishment for Thranduil being a flake, for never following his pain to the very end of the line – but he didn’t want to! As much as the darkness demanded it of him, the fighting light inside of him refused. He was fed up of feeling down, pressured, and used by the invisible, vindictive terror that tortured him.

  
But what if there was no freeing himself from the clutches of the depression, he wondered? How could he go on feeling as he did in this very moment? Could he possibly? He was afraid that the answer to all of those questions was simply: he couldn’t.

  
He wanted to be strong enough for himself, for the new path that waited for him and his parents, and for Bard especially, but all he felt was weakness. Was he stupid for putting up an endless fight? Was it worth anything if he would never win, if he was always miserable?

  
A soft knocking on the door pulled him away from his stare fixated on the wall. He stood and snapped on the light.

  
“Who is it?” he asked flatly through the door.

  
“Pizza delivery!” a jovial voice replied (too jovial for this hour). Thranduil opened the door and saw it was, of course, Gandalf who stood there, as calm as ever. “Just checking in after that disruption we had in the hallway.” The elder said, and Thranduil furrowed his brows.

  
“Yeah, what was that about?” he asked curtly.

  
“It seems we’ve had a bump in the system; someone wasn’t monitoring that patient’s medication intake.” Thranduil’s brow spiked immediately and Gandalf calmed him with an understanding nod and a wave of his hands. “Yes, I know. It’s all being taken care of now. We won’t have a mishap like that again. That patient was diagnosed with severe chronic schizophrenia when he arrived and needs medication on a routine basis to prevent his hallucinations. Without the medication blocking such things, a sudden reappearance had him spooked and utterly out of control. I’m sorry he woke you all so late at night.”

  
“Well, we’re all here trying to better ourselves no matter how hard. The employees are supposed to be helping, not harming, and they’re harming everyone when something like this happens.” Thranduil replied sharply and Gandalf nodded again.

  
“Yes, of course, I agree with you. Said employee will be disciplined for such a major error, I assure you.” He paused and looked the blonde in the eyes very intently through the ill-lighting, his own pale blue eyes twinkling with knowledge and intrigue. “How are you, Thranduil?” he asked softly. “You seem quite shaken up.”

  
“I’m not sure what you’d call it…out of sorts, maybe. Or maybe it’s just my normal state I’ve been ‘shaken’ back into…I feel exhausted in just the short time that all of this has transpired.” Thranduil answered as he rubbed his tired eyes.

  
“I see. I understand that something so startling this can be triggering.”

  
Thranduil nodded shortly, not wanting to totally admit that he’d been so badly effected by the whole event. He wanted to be making steps forward only, not backward, and that was where he was being pulled.

  
“What would you like to do?” Gandalf asked. “I can offer you a small dose of sleeping medication and we can talk tomorrow, or we can talk now.”

  
“I think I’d like to try to sleep, but…talking tomorrow, yes.”

  
“You’re sure you’d like to wait until then?”

  
“If I start talking now, I’ll probably never sleep and end up worse than I am.”

  
“Very well. I’ll have someone deliver your medicine, then, and I’ll be seeing you in the morning so we can discuss whatever you’d like to discuss. I also want to share something with you I’ve been brainstorming, something I think you might like.” The elder man gave a smile, wrinkles sprouting all over his face, and then pat Thranduil’s shoulder tenderly. “Get some rest, and tomorrow I’ll have some real pizza for you.”

 

 

As soon as he woke he was heavy, still sullen from the disruption in the night. None of his in his soreness had flown away with his dreams. In his head he cursed whoever it was who went tearing through the halls causing havoc, but he also reminded himself that they were all there in that facility for similar reasons.

  
The room was bland. The walls were off-white and blank, all except for one square by his bed where pages from coloring books and cards from his loved ones hung. He was thankful for all of them, knowing that some of the residents were on their own aside from their doctors and the staff. Even being grateful, it didn’t quite make his one room home…whatever that really was to him.

  
He stared at one card in particular. It was a gentle array of spring colors. A bluebird resting on the nose of a deer. A shower of flower petals. A kind inscription inside written in his father’s handwriting. His sight was always drawn to it and he wondered what going back to the house would be like once it was time to go back.

  
He started going through the motions. Only allowed one fifteen minute shower a day, Thranduil began his day once again by using up all of his shower minutes. He dried his hair as well as he could with a towel and clothed himself. He forced himself to the dining hall and picked at an assortment of berries and a bagel. He often eyed the French toast, and regrettably so, for it made him think of Bard. He yearned to be with him. He sat alone.

  
After his barely-breakfast, Thranduil went through the cycle of his assigned groups and workshops. He participated as little as possible, even in his theatre activities, waiting to divulge his thoughts to the person he felt at least somehow comfortable doing so with.

  
When he came to stand at Gandalf’s door, he hesitated. All the buildup in his head was swirling, taunting…

  
Who was he really, he wondered? Would the darkness forever smear truth, happiness, clarity? Was the darkness a permanent part of him? Was he right to be reaching out for help? Everyone told him it was the right thing to do for himself, that he deserved to have strength and healing, but believing it was the hardest and most necessary ingredient to health, even if he only believed it a little somewhere deep inside.

  
He was fighting against himself in all directions:

  
_Don’t do it_

  
_Yes, do it, you have to. You need to. You can do this._

  
_People are counting on you._

  
_But that’s not the point, you need to do this for you._

  
_None of this matters._

  
_This matters more than anything._

  
_You don’t want to do this._

  
_But you should. You need to. You won’t regret it. You want to do this. Down deep, you want it._

  
_Does it matter what you want?_

  
_You are life. A phenomenal creation unique from all others among you. That means something – that means everything. You are here, you were meant to be, and you deserve goodness. You can do it. You’ve come this far. You are strong._

  
He knocked.

  
“Yes, come on in!” Gandalf called.

  
Thranduil stepped inside and had a light chuckle, smelling pizza in the room and seeing its source in a box on Gandalf’s desk. The man set his glasses down and waved him inside.

  
“Hello, hello, hello! Good afternoon, Thranduil! Take a seat, take a slice.”

  
He sat in the cozy chair right in front of Gandalf’s desk and kept his eyes down on his lap.

  
“I’m sorry, Gandalf, but I don’t much feel like eating at the moment.”

  
“No worries. That’s what microwaves are for.” The elder man shrugged with his trademark smile, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes, and moved the box so he could lean on his desktop. “So, how are you feeling today?”

  
“I feel…strange. I’m not certain if it’s good or bad. I sort of feel like I’m just…floating in purgatory.”

  
“Because of what happened last night?”

  
“That awakened it this time around, I think. It just brought things we’ve been trying to work on.”

  
“What things in specific?”

  
“I know that the memories will never go away. I know I can treat my illnesses – medication, private and group counseling services. I keep doubting all of those methods. Will I ever be fixed permanently? Cured? Be able to look back and not be triggered?”

  
“There is no cure for depression or alcoholism, per-say. Looking back with less triggers is very possible. One day you may be able to look back on those difficult times in your life and not feel triggered at all. Everyone’s journey and recovering is different because people are so diverse in how they handle every part of the emotional world. No two will have the same experiences, but we do like to believe that the harder you work, the better your chances will be. Also, don’t look at yourself as needing to be _fixed_ or _cured_. There is nothing wrong with you, Thranduil. Your illnesses do not define who you are.”

  
At this, the young blonde’s eyes immediately filled with tears and trickled down his face rapidly. He stifled a cry and took the tissue box Gandalf handed him.

  
“Thank you,” he muttered as he wiped his reddening eyes.

  
“It’s just like anyone else who has an illness. An illness does not make a person, a _person_ makes a person. Heart, spirit, mind.”

  
“But how can I be a person if my heart hurts so much? How can I be a person if my mind is so distorted?”

  
“People in all walks of life have experienced hurt. It is part of human nature for most of us. Just because you may be hurting more than some others right now does not make you any less of a person. You are not alone.”  
“It’s hard to see it that way when I’m in such a terrible condition.

 

“I understand that. Thinking of others is not easy when we feel down, because we have an instinct to take care of ourselves first, to survive. And you’re taking care of yourself by being here and it is going to do a whole lot of good for you, and for your relationships. I understand it can feel debilitating to hurt and that it is difficult for you to overcome, but treatment has brought you leaps and bounds ahead.”

  
“It has?”

  
“Oh yes, I can see it. And treatment is helping your heart, your spirit, and your mind.”

  
“I feel a difference.”

  
“Well, that’s something, hm?” Gandalf added with a nod and smile.

  
“I’m just not sure what the difference is. I can’t decipher it, can’t pinpoint it, and I don’t like that because I don’t feel myself and that’s all I’ve ever known is _myself_. At the same time, I don’t really know who I am apart from all of the shit in my head. It makes me think that I cannot separate myself from it…it’s a part of me. I don’t want that, but to me, it’s the way things are. It’s all very complex and unpleasant.”

  
“Self-discovery is often complicated – intricate. It is also a lifelong process that does not always give clear answers or signs. Not all things must always be as such, so do not stress over having the proper words to identify things. As for your self – as I said before, your illness does not make you, but it is a part of you. Even as you make your recovery, you will have rough patches in your life where you may feel more vulnerable to relapse, so in a sense parts of it will remain, but that’s what therapeutic methods are for. As you progress, I believe you will get a better sense of who you are. Right now you can look at yourself too: your self-expression, your desires, your interests, your values.”

  
“But what if things like my interests and values change over time?”

  
“Of course some of them will! Again, self-discovery is lifelong, and that is because the self is always growing and developing. When I was your age figure skating was my focus, and then theology. I wanted a degree in it, that was my end goal, but I changed my mind about that too somewhere along the way. There were so many things to which I said: This is it, this is what I want forever and ever. You will have some things that remain constant in you, but things change too – _you change._ That’s just part of the great experience that is life. ”

  
“Well, I have changed quite a bit just this summer.”

  
“You fell in love.”

  
“I did, and it opened my eyes to so many things. I would say that I have become better from all that I’ve learned about myself, about others, about connection. I did have love in my life before Bard, from my friends is where I felt it most due to the situation with my parents, so there was always love somewhere, but…”

  
“Sometimes certain people can show you things you’ve never dreamed of.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Ah, young love.” Gandalf’s sigh turned into soft laughter, his eyes gleaming as if he had seen a brief flash of his own youthful memories in Thranduil’s eyes. “I am happy to know that you have wonderful relationships in your life.”

 

“And there is much more coming, from Bard and from my parents, especially…the latter makes me nervous, I admit. I don’t know what to expect when I go back.”

  
“One will only know when he has returned. From speaking with your parents, I predict it will be a slow, but beautiful blossoming of new closeness between you all.”

  
“I hope so. That would be…unreal.”

  
“Since we’re speaking of your loved ones, there is something I wanted to talk to you about that I want your opinion on, since you are such an experienced performer. I was brainstorming with some of the creative team staff members and we were thinking that putting on showcases of the talent of the residents, whether it be dance, art, music, or acting. They can show their loved ones what they’re learned and their loved ones can in turn be a part of the creative pathway to healing.”

  
“I think that’s a great idea!” Thranduil agreed enthusiastically.

  
“I was hoping you’d say that, because we want to start as soon as possible. As a secret between us, I did have you in mind when I cooked up this idea.”

  
“Me? I would perform something for my friends or family, whoever came?”

  
“Yes. Everyone will get their chance to do something on their own, and there will be a group performance also. You and your acting advisor will work together to decide what you’ll do.”

  
“Yes, of course, yes. I would enjoy that.”

  
“To take it a step further, only if you want, I’ll push for you to work with the staff on direction.”

  
“I don’t know what to say Gandalf, other than thank you.”

  
“How about ‘I’ll have a slice of that pizza now’?”

  
“That too. Thank you.”

 

 

The inpatients that were able were all required to have time spent outside on the nice days, and being in California, nearly every day was considered nice unless it was raining. He sat under the same tree each day and ran his fingers through the blades of grass repeatedly. He admired the sunbeams that poked through the leaves; it was just enough light to warm his skin, but not enough to blind him.

  
He felt good, genuinely _good_ , ever since he’d left Gandalf’s office, and that was pretty amazing. All he could think about was the showcase. He would talk to the creative staff right away once he’d had time to write down all of his ideas. His day had improved ten-fold at this point, and it got even better. Excitement stirred in him once he was told he had a visitor. He couldn’t wait to talk about his new project.

  
He walked swiftly to his bedroom where his guest was waiting for him, and upon opening the door everything inch of is good mood fizzled away. He was hot and cold. His fingertips tingled with a sensation that could only be described as a numbing mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt.

  
The two stared at each other, both stunned and unable to find the words to start.

  
“Uh, hey.” Feren finally said. Thranduil remained mute in the doorway. “You always left me speechless, but I never imagined I’d do the same to you.”

  
“Don’t mistake my silence for being awed by you.” Thranduil snapped back.

 

“It wasn’t all bad, Thran.” Feren replied meekly and glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hands. “But that’s not the point.”

 

Thranduil took a long, deep breath, and slowly let it out as he proceeded calmly. “What a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes. Sound familiar?”

  
“Thran, come on. I just-”

  
“No. Don't call me that.”

  
“ _Thranduil_ ,”

  
“I’ve heard things you’ve said after we broke up through the grapevine, and I don’t appreciate any of it. I know that you’ve expressed sentiment of wishing I wouldn’t be happy with Bard, that you’re full of spite and jealousy.”

  
“I was mad, Thranduil! I loved you! I _do_ love you. That’s why I’m here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

  
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thranduil sighed and rubbed his temple. “I don’t want you here, Feren. You need to put the delusion of us ever getting back together to rest. Our time has been long over.”

  
“I didn’t come to try to win you back. I only wanted to see you for myself, know you were alright.” Feren said and held out the flowers.

  
“That concern was lacking when we were together.”

  
Feren frowned, clearly disagreeing, but let out a slow breath and said “I’m sorry.”

  
“Well, now you’ve seen me. Are you satisfied?”

  
“How are you doing?”

  
“I choose not to share that with you. If you had good intent coming here, then fine, but you need to go now. If you truly care about me at all, you’ll go and you won’t come looking for me again. I’m not able to tolerate seeing you right now. I’m not able to talk to you or be friends with you right now. So, please...” Thranduil gestured toward the door.

  
“You have no idea how badly I don’t want to honor that…but I will if it’s my only chance to make things right.”

  
“It isn’t about making things right. It’s about being genuinely considerate.”

  
“Alright. I understand.” Feren nodded and gave a defeated shrug.

  
“You can keep the flowers.”

  
“I wish things had been different, that _I_   had been different. I’m sorry, Thranduil...for everything.”

  
Those were the final words, and Feren left. Thranduil had been surprised to see him at all, but was even more surprised that he departed so easily. However, what surprised him the most was himself. Looking back on the encounter, he would have expected that he would act utterly cold and even yell at Feren for daring to come see him and say the things he said after all they’d been through, but he never had the urge to do anything of the sort now. He’d handled it pretty calmly, even being as annoyed as he was with the whole ordeal.

  
Thranduil truly was changing. He could see it in himself, and it seemed that the changes he’d made and recognized so far were for the better. Seeing Feren and knowing where he stood in his own life made Thranduil think that perhaps things weren't so bleak after all. In fact, he was quite lucky. 

A terrible day was not so terrible after all.


End file.
